She turned to face him. “You mean something more feminine.”
“I mean something more suitable. You know, this getting defensive every time I speak is getting tedious.”
Arched brows lowered. “I’m not defensive.”
“Indeed,” he drawled, and moved toward the cold box—a specially designed metal-lined container kept cold by means of the substance CardicesubstanӀardice—which was certain to be stocked with all manner of refreshment. He was famished.
He’d just reached the cold box when the train gave a loud hiss and lurched into motion. He braced one hand against the wall to keep from stumbling. Claire, he noted, did the same, only he doubted she almost put her fingers right through the wall.
“Hungry?” Alastair asked, once the locomotive found its pace and he felt secure in his footing.
“Sure,” she replied, glancing around. “It looks like a brothel in here.”
He followed her gaze. Yes, the paneling was dark and the furnishings a tad too crimson, but that was how it looked when he purchased the bloody thing. “Been in many brothels, have you?”
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “A few, yes.”
He carried a platter of bread, cheese and cold ham to the table. “Come sit.”
She regarded him warily as she moved closer. “You don’t want to know what I was doing in the brothel, or who I was doing it to?”
“To whom you were doing it. And no. I don’t.”
She ignored his correction of her grammar. “What if I told you I was with another woman?”
Alastair paused. He was a man, after all, and the idea had a certain lasciviousness he appreciated as a lover of the feminine form. “Not even,” he responded, returning to the cold box for cider.
“Does the thought offend you?”
Christ on a Velocycle, the woman was the most provoking creature he’d ever met. “No. Should it?”
“Most men would be aroused by it.”
He set the cider on the table and sat down on one of the benches bolted to the floor. “Would you like to arouse me, Miss Brooks?” He was not a fool; he had played these games before. He’d wager he’d used his own looks and charm to worm his way into almost as many confidences as she had, though perhaps not with the same success. But this was not his first assignment, and she was going to have to do better than that to trick him.
She leaned across the table, flashing him a coy look. “It would be so much easier for that rudder to do its job if I could.”
He laughed. For the first time in too long to remember, he laughed well and hard.
Then the damnedest thing happened. Claire Brooks smiled—really smiled. And it was as though someone hit him upside the head with a cricket bat. He could only stare at her like a stupid boy.
He was playing right into her hands. If there was one thing of which he was certain, it was that this woman would chew him up and spit him out if given the chance.
Alastair cleared his throat. “Right. Here, eat something. We won’t be north till well into the night. We’ll stay at a hotel and then venture on to the house party later that day.”
She shifted, as though ill at ease. Well, what did she expect? That she’d make one joke and he’d be Snd e, hers? “I thought we’d be there tonight.”
He didn’t blame her for being eager to get it all over with, but a few extra hours in the free world must surely hold some temptation? “No. We need to make sure we give the same information if asked. I assume you want to use your alias of Claire Clarke?”
She nodded, a hint of that beguiling smile returning. “Yes. I meant to ask you how you found out about that.”
“I have my means.” He tore off a bit of bread and popped it in his mouth. “You never thought that perhaps actress was a bit high-profile for a spy?”
“It’s perfect. I started doing a little acting before I joined the Company. No one suspects me of anything. They either think I’m traveling or doing a performance somewhere, and it usually saves me from having to hunt people down by bringing them to me. Men always think I’m trolling for a new lover.”
Alastair shook his head as he tore another chunk of bread from the soft loaf. “All right, that works.” He wasn’t known for being a lothario, but he’d had a few relationships in his lifetime—enough that the idea of his seeing an actress wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. No one would question why he was with her, though some might wonder what the devil she was doing with him when she could easily have a duke or a prince as her lover.
“Where did we meet?” she asked, also helping herself to the simple but delicious fare.
“London. We can say you were in the city because you’ve been asked to appear in a production of Hamlet.”
“Argh.” She made a face. “Not Shakespeare. I despise trying to do Shakespeare. No, I’m thinking of playing Mrs. Cheveley in Wilde’s An Ideal Husband.”
“You’re hardly old enough to play Mrs. Cheveley.”
“That doesn’t matter. It’s a good role, and one that will immediately make all the women at this event think of me in the proper manner.”
“You want the women to dislike you.”
“Yes. It will make the men like me all the more—and endear you to the women because they’ll all think you deserve better.”
“What does it matter? We won’t be there for any length of time. We find the Doctor and Howard, and we’re done.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “The Doctor may not be at the party with Howard but somewhere close by. And Howard, as you must surely know, is a master of disguise.”
Yes, of course he knew this. “I assumed you would recognize him even with a disguise.”
She snorted. “He’s a master for a reason, my lord.”
Provoking indeed. “And you reckon he’s traveling with the Doctor because he needs some sort of surgery done?”
“I think the Doctor is going to surgically change Howard’s facial features so that he can avoid capture permanently.”
“Damnation. Is that even possible?”
She looked at him as though he were a dolt. “This coming from a man whose eyes have been altered so he can see in the dark.”
Alastair froze. “How do you know that?”
“Please. Everyone in the Company knows about you.” She waved a piece of cheese at him. “You’re like the bogeyman.”
Yes, there was a certain pride inherent in being feared by some of the most devious agents in the world, but at the same time he didn’t like them knowing all his secrets. And he truly did not like Claire Brooks knowing them. Though, thanks to his research, he now knew plenty of hers.
It was time to draw the conversation away from himself. “You don’t seem the least bit bothered that we’re going after your former cohorts.”
“I’m not.” She took a bite of ham, chewed and swallowed. “You’re not surprised, are you? You know how the game is played; you’re only as loyal to your agency as it is to you.”
That wasn’t always the case, he thought, fighting off the cold that threatened to wrap around his heart. He knew of one traitor who had been treated very well by his agency. “And yours is responsible for the death of your brother.”
Real pain flickered in her eyes. “Yes. They betrayed me, and now here I am helping you catch two of their most prized assets to save my own arse and spank theirs.”
There was something in her voice that made him think she was lying, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Perhaps he just wanted to distrust her because it made her that much less appealing. Perhaps it was easier to simply see her as the enemy.
Regardless, it made him wonder what secrets Claire Brooks was hiding. Would one of them get him killed?
Chapter 6
Wolfred wasn’t stupid. He knew she wasn’t being entirely truthful. These were but just two thoughts that passed through Claire’s mind as she and the earl made the journey from the train station to their hotel very late that evening.